


The Noble Place

by sunlightCatcher



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (and vriska but vriska isnt a main character yet), (its roxy), Alternate Universe - The Good Place (TV) Fusion, Gen, Trans Female Character, artistic license: the socratic dialogues, future callieroxy, uhh im gonna add more tags and characters as they become relevant, you dont have to watch the good place but it helps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-01-03 08:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21176501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlightCatcher/pseuds/sunlightCatcher
Summary: The Heiress to Crockercorp, a notorious hacker, an insufferable philosophy student and a guy with a comically bad Australian accent walk into the afterlife.  Sound like a joke? That's cause it is. The Good Place is a mess, y'all.





	1. All Gamers Go To Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> i wasnt actually going to post this today but considering both the good place and homestuck updated within 24 hours of each other i kind of had to, as the poets say, "carpe narratio". fuck it, right? 
> 
> if u have any comments/inquiries/hatemail and the ao3 comments section isnt ur style, my tumblr is hellboundheartbreaker and i check it way more often 
> 
> thanks for reading!!

**==> Dirk: Wake up.**

This is the nicest room you've ever been in. You're greeted by four green words on the wall in front of you: Welcome! Everything is fine. And everything is fine. You feel fine. For a second you wonder where your shades are at. Then it hits you: you're wearing them. The room is so bright that through your rad eyewear it looks normal. Like it was made with you in mind.

Which brings you to a burning question that's been threatening to ask itself for a minute now: What the exact fuck is this place, and how did you get here?

The last thing you remember is arguing with Dave. What about, you can't remember. You stormed out and slammed the door way louder than you intended to, and

And fucking nothing. It's just the sound of the door slamming and you waking up in this room. Which carries the upsetting implication that at some point between there and here you were asleep.

"Dirk?" says someone. "Come in."

You follow the mysterious girl into the next room. She seems to know what's up.

"Take a seat," she says, and you do. "I suppose you want to know what's going on here."

"Yeah."

She leans forward in her swivel chair. "Well, my name is Aradia, and I am the architect of this neighbourhood."

"That tells me less than nothing useful."

Aradia grins, and Jesus she looks creepy now that you're really looking at her. "Dirk Strider, you are dead, and this is the afterlife."

Fucked up if true, you think.

"Why is Hell so bright?" you ask. "This is Hell, right? Because it ain't what Socrates said death was. At least not right now."

"No, Dirk, this isn't Hell," she says, her grin faltering slightly. "The afterlife doesn't use those kinds of labels. There's a Good Place and a Bad Place. And you're in the Good Place."

"By what possible metric?" you can't help asking.

Aradia takes out a manila folder and reads. "Dirk Strider. American. When you were fourteen, your father was arrested for a murder he did not commit and sentenced to life in federal prison. From then on, you dedicated yourself to the study of law and freeing those who were sentenced based on faulty evidence. You met your wife, June, at a climate change protest and you were happily married for three years when you died."

Wow. Aside from the name and nationality, not one word of that is true. You're a Philosophy student who shoplifts orange soda from convenience stores, not a hotshot lawyer. And you definitely don't have a wife.

"That definitely is a whole bunch of things I did," you say, like the fucking liar you are. You're pretty good at lying, at least. Congratulations, you think to yourself. One redeeming quality. You think maybe you're the worst.

**==> Dirk: Get shown around the neighbourhood.**

Aradia leads you around all the important places, introducing you along the way to fucking everybody. There's Sollux Captor, who was imprisoned for years for blowing the whistle on some US government surveillance scheme and passed the time teaching his fellow prisoners computer literacy; and his soulmate Feferi Peixes, who spent her life advocating for worldwide female education. There's Terezi Pyrope, another alleged hotshot lawyer, but she's a prosecutor who worked to put away the powerful and guilty; and her soulmate Vriska Serket, who fought valiantly against anti-trans laws in Alabama.

When you're done introducing yourself to everybody and their goddamn soulmate, you're taken to your house.

"This building was designed to suit your tastes perfectly," says Aradia. It instead appears to have been designed for the awesome guy you got mixed up with. You wonder where he is right now. You kinda don't care.

The asshole you're pretending to be has an all-consuming interest in awful movies, judging by the posters that positively litter the walls. Whatever. You can ignore that. But the heart-shaped everything bothers you in a way you can't explain. It's like a six-year-old's pony party that distracts her from various childhood traumas.

The main thing you're concerned about is your alleged soulmate. Mostly because she's not a man.

"This is Ruby Dashiell," says Aradia. "She's a doctor from Cameroon. Ruby, this is Dirk Strider. He's a defence lawyer from Wyoming."

Wyoming. Jesus fuck.

Ruby goes in for a hug, but you make it a handshake at the last second. She looks kinda disappointed. She'd better get used to it.

"Nice to meet you," she says. Christ, everyone's always smiling here. It's insufferable. How dare they be so happy in eternal paradise.

"Likewise." You can't wait to break the news to this perfectly sweet Cameroonian woman that you're an imposter. "You don't have an accent."

"The Good Place automatically translates between languages," Aradia explains. "Ruby is speaking French right now."

"Awesome. So Aradia," you say, masterfully switching topics to distract from your social faux pas. "May I have some time alone with my soulmate, so we can get to know each other?"

Aradia nods and promptly fucks off. You make sure she's out of earshot before you turn to Ms Dashiell.

"So, Ruby," you begin. "Can I... tell you something?"

**==> Roxy: Wake up.**

You don't know where you are. The wall would have you believe that Everything is fine, but you're a little sceptical. You'd like to see some evidence supporting this.

How'd you get here, anyway? You've woken up in some odd places before, but never a dentist's waiting room. Or what looks like a dentist's waiting room. It has the same generic paintings that might be flowers and the same vague smell of something that isn't strawberry.  
Oh shit, your phone isn't in your pocket. Now you're ready to panic. But you keep your cool, and sit in a non-contemplative stillness for a bit. You know, chilling the fuck out.

The door opens and a woman, who the reader knows is Aradia Megido but you don't, greets you with a smile. Perfectly white teeth. Definitely a dentist.

"Come on in, honey," she says. Honey. That's what this place smells like. Why were you thinking strawberry? You follow her regardless into the next room.

"Take a seat," she says, and you do. "I'll make this quick and easy. You died. My name is Aradia. Welcome to the afterlife and eternal paradise!"

You think back to all the reasons you definitely don't deserve eternal paradise. "Kay."

Aradia takes out a file. "Ruby Dashiell," she reads. "Born in Cameroon, you knew from a young age that you wanted to be a doctor. You went to high school in Nigeria and university in Australia. You travelled back home and provided your services to those who otherwise couldn't afford them. You saved hundreds of lives from preventable illnesses like HIV and AIDS. So I think it's fair to say you belong in the Good Place."

You nod along. You're not too excited about what happens when this lady finds out you're actually Roxy Lalonde, high school dropout and Wikipedia vandal. Fuck, just this morning you were hacking your old school's records to fix your sister's English grade, but in your defence, it's not your fault that Rose's takes on 1984 were too hot for the school to handle. It's also not your fault that your hacks were too hot for the school to handle.

Shit. Rose. If you're dead, what's happening to her right now? Does she know? You can't very well ask. That sucks.

You think about her getting that phone call. You wonder if they'd get your name right. If you weren't home when you died, you probably had ID on you, right? But if you didn't...

And you can't ask. You can't find out. Because if you do, then you reveal your true identity.

**==> Roxy: Get shown around the neighbourhood.**

Aradia takes you to the frozen yoghurt place. You get a tub of a flavour called "Realising You Still Have A Few Hours Of Sleep Left", which somehow tastes exactly like that feeling. Aradia declines to have any. You choose a bright pink table with matching chairs.

"So, funny story," Aradia says. "I have some business to attend to. Is it alright if someone else shows you around?"

"Sure," you answer, your mouth full of froyo. Man, froyo is never as good as you think it's going to be when you order it. Maybe it's another side effect of not belonging here.

"Then I'll leave you with Callie." Aradia rises from her seat. "Callie?"

"Hello!" says a voice behind you. You jerk forward instinctively, then turn to see a white-haired woman in a green suit smiling at you. "My name is Callie. I am a database of all knowledge in the universe. How can I be of assistance?"

"Callie, can you show Ruby around please?" Aradia asks. "I have to go sort out her soulmate. You know, the--"

"Soulmate?" you interrupt. Now you're curious about this business.

"Surprise! Soulmates are real," Aradia says. "Yours is just in the waiting room. See you on the flip side!"

And with that, it's just you and Callie. This is weird. She's pretty, you think. Half a head shorter than you, very prim and proper. She's looking at you very intently.

"So, Callie, you're a robot lady?"

"I am not a robot and not a lady," she says matter-of-factly.

"Can you tell me about the person Aradia's getting? You know, dude, lady, neither? Are they hot?"

Calliope smiles in a way that strikes you as distinctly human. "He is of average appearance, according to the internal thought processes of 23,000 heterosexual women who saw him throughout his life."

"Okay," you say. "Okay, a dude. I can vibe with that. What about personality?"

"30% of his classmates found him charming and intelligent, 45% found him unremarkable and 25% found him completely insufferable and pretentious."

You nod. "Right. but he can't be that bad if he's here, right?"

Calliope sits in the chair Aradia was occupying earlier. "Ruby dear, I don't decide who gets into the Good Place. In fact, I don't decide anything. I am just your friendly assistant, here to make your afterlife optimal. Once you get here, good and bad don't really mean anything anymore. Everyone here is on the same side of the spectrum. You cannot call the North side of a magnet the North side unless there is also a South side. And the other side of this magnet is in a whole nother pocket dimension that you will never see."

Your froyo is almost completely melted. One valiant lump remains. "Callie, I wanna go home."

Somewhere, meanwhile, some dude in dumb sunglasses wakes up.

**==> Dirk: Confess.**

"So, Ruby," you begin. Jesus fuck, where do you start.

"Yeah?"

You didn't think this through. Words are starting to fail you. "You're my soulmate," you stutter, hoping that this factor is enough to convince her not to report you and put you in Hell for eternity.

"That's what I was told," she replies. She won't meet your eyes. Probably because your eyes are behind triangular shades.

"Can I tell you something with the assurance that you will never tell anyone?"

She's unreadable. Maybe if you met under different circumstances you could've been friends. Too bad you're about to ruin her afterlife.

"Sure," she says.

You take a deep breath. It's too late to turn back. You talk fast and you don't stop to breathe lest she interrupt you. "I'm definitely not your soulmate. They've got me mixed up with some asshole who likes shitty movies and protesting climate change. I definitely belong in the Bad Place, because I was a dick when I was alive, and I'm a dick now. And don't get me wrong, you seem cool. You've got an awesome thing goin' with the cat socks and the pink hair, but it just ain't gonna happen."

"Oh," she says. Now she's looking you right in the triangles. She isn't crying, so that's good, right? "Well... me too, actually."

You're genuinely shocked by this. "Seriously?"

She nods sagely, her pink hair bouncing. "All of the seriously."

A zillion thoughts race around in your head, but you can't grasp any of them long enough to make sense out of anything. You start pacing, because that's what you do when you're stressing about complicated bullshit, which is always. "How did this happen to both of us?" you ask when you finally put a coherent thought together. You don't know if you're asking her or yourself or someone else entirely. "How could the system be so flawed?"

"My real name's Roxy," she says softly. "Roxy Lalonde. I don't know who Ruby Dashiell is."

"They didn't get your name right?"

She shakes her head. "Or my nationality. That Aradia chick said I'm from Cameroon, but I'm from New York. It's kinda racist, TBH."

"Alright, Roxy," you say. This is some horseshit. The afterlife is seriously fucking with you. "So what's your real life story? The one that doesn't involve being a Cameroonian doctor."

Roxy shrugs. "Not much to it. I was born in New York and mostly raised there, but I lived in Florida for a year when my mom got a job there. I dropped out of high school in eleventh grade 'cause depression was kicking my ass, and I started hacking and shit. All in all, not a stellar Good Place candidate. What about you?"

You realise your mistake in asking Roxy about her life. You decide to be vague and aloof and hope she doesn't press you. "I was a Texas trashbag. Like, a real fuckin' douchebag."

"So, like, if you're not meant to be here," Roxy says. She makes the same face that Dave used to make when he was thinking hard about something. Which he presumably still does. You're the one who's dead, not him. "And I'm not meant to be here..."

"Who's flying the plane?" you suggest.

She laughs at that. A real laugh, not a bullshit pity laugh. "That is a question you could ask. But what I'm wondering is, do you think we could still be soulmates in a weird way?"

You give her a bullshit pity laugh. "I highly doubt it."

"Why?"

"For starters, you're not a dude."

For a second she doesn't say anything. Doesn't even look at you, just stands in thought. She doesn't seem to know what to do with her arms. Then she smiles, and again you think it's probably for real, though you can't guess why. "Damn," she says finally. "I did not have you pegged as a gay guy."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"Then again," she continues. "I guess having you pegged ain't my job."

This conversation is suddenly terrible.

"Let's talk about anything else," you say, before this can become a whole thing. "Please."

"Sensitive topic?"

You shrug in a way that you hope implies not caring. "Not so much sensitive as not really warranting discussion. I mean, this is already the longest conversation I've participated in on the subject."

She seems surprised at that. "Really? Didn't you, like, have crushes and shit? I mean for me it was a whole ordeal when people found out."

This conversation is perhaps marginally less terrible than before. You can deal with this kind of shit from someone gay, 'cause only the good Lord knows how many dudes have confessed with teary eyes that they wanna make out with you or some shit.

So, fuck it?

"Every time I found a guy who by some miracle liked me he'd come to my apartment and we'd make out and then he'd leave," you say. "My 'coming out' consisted of my bro Dave walking in on me with some guy's tongue down my throat and subsequently leaving us the fuck alone. Later he gave me a stoic fist bump of approval. Happy?"

Oh, she's definitely judging you. This was a mistake. This is why you don't talk about this shit. Unfortunately for you, she does. "Y'know, most people do actually talk about their lives and feelings. Like, I sat my mom and sister down and told 'em I was a girl and they told me they love me and that Roxy's a cool name."

"You're trans?" you ask, which is a dumb question 'cause she just told you that, you stupid asshole.

"I'm literally wearing the trans flag on my shirt, dude. I think you might just be a dumbass."

"Your shirt also says 'Gamer Girls Have More Fun.' That's a detail that's hard to look past."

"True," she concedes. "But one of us is wearing pointy anime shades and it's not me."

"I guess we'll have to wait for someone without sin to come throw the first stone for us," you say. "Which, considering we're both currently committing identity theft, is not us."

"Fuck," she says, and then: "Hey."

"What?"

"What if... this wasn't an accident? What if we were put here as, like, a second chance? To live better lives and do less cybercrime?"

"You were a cybercriminal?" you ask, because you just can't fuckin' help yourself. You need elabouration on that.

"I was _the_ cybercriminal," she says, with a hand gesture that you guess is supposed to be a reference to something. Holy shit.

You nod approvingly. "I'm impressed. I was just some asshole hiding Fanta under his jacket and always having the lingering fear that this time I was gonna set off the towers. I never did, of course."

"You were a klepto?"

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. You need to shut up, like, right the immediate fuck now. This was a mistake. Only, you can't shut up, because you have an itching need to get semantic about stuff.

"That's a very antediluvian term," you say, desperately hoping you sound cool and intellectual.

"A pretentious klepto." Roxy's arms are crossed. "Got it. So what do we do now?"

"Simple," you say. "Lay low and pretend you're a Cameroonian doctor named Ruby and I'm a lawyer from Wyoming who's super jazzed about having the capacity to fall in love with a woman."

"Sounds lame."

"Sounds like not getting tortured for eternity."

Eternity. That scares you. You remember in ninth grade, when you were the worst kind of atheist. You've been the worst kind of a lot of things in your time. Back then, when someone would ask about the afterlife, you would scoff and say that there was no such thing. And now here you are, in the very realm that you denied existed.

It was a comfort not to believe in life after death. There was solace to be found in knowing that at some point you wouldn't be anything. That there was a time limit on your existence. Immortality scared you. No, immortality scares you, present fucking tense. You weren't meant to live forever, and you've always known it.

Would you even be recognisable after an eternity? You look down on all the previous versions of you. Fourteen-year-old Dirk, who started an anime club. Sixteen-year-old Dirk, the goth asshole. Eighteen-year-old Dirk, the puppet guy. You don't claim any of those guys anymore. Who's to say 20,000-year-old Dirk will claim you?

Roxy sighs. "You're right. Hey Callie?"

"Hello!" says someone who seems to enjoy startling people out of their existential crises.  
  
"Woah, where'd you come from?" you ask. You can feel your heartbeat, which itself raises some questions about the afterlife, but you're not sure you want those ones answered.

The someone is wearing a green suit with a symbol embroidered on it that you only recognise from YouTube thumbnails. She grins and introduces herself. "My name is Callie. I am a database of all knowledge in the universe! You can ask me anything. I am here to make your stay in the Good Place as good as possible."

"Why are you British?" you ask.

"Why are you wearing a shirt with a hat on it?" Callie replies.

Goddamn it, you think. Then you say it. "Goddamn it," you say.

"If you would like anything, please let me know. I can provide you with anything you ask for," Callie says Britishly.

"Anything?" you repeat, your curiosity piqued.

"Of course."

Roxy gives you that shut-the-fuck-up look that you've become accustomed to seeing when you go on one of your tangents. She looks like she's trying to dissolve the rad triangles right off your face.

"Alright, let me think about this. I definitely want a pony, but not right now because there's shit that needs doing. And I want an English translation of Lysis. Not to read, but to show to people and explain that the bad men that Lysis and Socrates discuss are me, and also that Hippothales was a bitchass motherfucker. I think that's it for now."

Callie hands you the book. Fuck yeah, you think. "When would you like that pony?" she asks.


	2. Jane Lives In A Society

**==> Jane: Wake up.**

  
The first thing you see when you open your eyes is the declaration that everything is fine. You're a bit hesitant to believe that, frankly. You have no idea where you are, or why or how. You were just on your computer in your room a second ago and now you are in what looks like a hospital waiting room. Shucks buster.

  
You were messaging John. He was telling you to delete BettyBother and get Pesterchum instead. There's nothing after that. It rustles your jimmies not knowing.

  
You have to admit, this place is pretty nice. The couch is comfortable, and the fluorescent lights aren't so bad now that your eyes have adjusted. You could stay here for a while, you suppose. There's no rush to leave. You lean back and stop thinking for a moment or ten.

  
"Jane?" says someone. "Come on in."

  
You remove yourself from the comfortable couch and follow her. She's wearing Crockercorp colours, so maybe this is a company thing. Heiress training?

  
"Take a seat, Jane," says the woman. She's very pretty, you think. Long black hair and wide eyes that might be any colour. "My name is Aradia. I am the person in charge here."

  
"Excellent," you say. "Is there something I have to sign?"

  
She laughs at that, and her laugh is rippling and punctuated by a snort. "No, Jane. You're dead."

  
"Excuse me? Ms Aradia, I'd like to speak to your superior." You're outraged by the way she's speaking to you, the future CEO of Crockercorp.

  
"Unfortunately, my superior is a busy woman," says Aradia. "But you shouldn't take my statement as a threat. It's just a fact."

  
There is no way that this insane woman is working for your company. If she is an employee, she will be fired soon enough.

  
"Ms Aradia, I find your conduct extremely inappropriate," you declare. "I hope you are not an employee of Crockercorp."

  
She laughs again. You start to feel ugly. "Jane, dear," she says gently. "I don't work for Crockercorp. I'm an architect of the afterlife. You're in the Good Place now."

  
You don't believe her, but you decide to go along with it. Whatever gets you out of here. "Okay, Ms Aradia, what's the Good Place like?"

  
She smiles. "It's all in the name, Jane. You don't have to call me Ms, by the way. Just Aradia is fine. But if you want to be formal, my surname is Megido."

  
"What language is that?" you inquire.

  
"Hebrew. Megiddo is a location on Earth that was also known as Armageddon. Isn't that fun?"

  
You don't say anything. It seems unwise to do so.

  
She continues. "Aradia is most likely Italian. That's disputed, though."

  
There's a silence.

  
"You don't have to believe me, Jane," Aradia says. "You will eventually. If you'll come with me, there's a neighbourhood meeting soon. It's a time for us all to get to know each other. Come on, I'll take you there. Your soulmate's waiting for you."

  
Shucks. Fucking. Buster.

  
**==> Roxy: Get guilty.**

  
"But then, Kant argues, the value of an action isn't relative depending on who you are or where you live or what year it is. Good is good and bad is bad. That's where you get the categorical imperative. Damn, I should actually get that fucking pony at some point. I told Callie I wanted a pony at an unspecified future point, and I never followed through. I might as well burn my copies of Pony Pals, the fuckin' fraud I am."

  
You've been listening to this for about ten minutes now. It's all going over your head, and you really wish you had a phone to look at instead of this guy. There don't seem to be any books in your house, and the only movies are the really shitty ones.

  
You're about to summon Callie again when she summons herself with a signature "Hello!"

  
"'Sup, Callie?" you say, relieved.

  
Callie nods at you. "Aradia told me to tell you that there is a neighbourhood meeting. You are to meet in the Town Hall, which is up the street and to the left."

  
And with that, she leaves. You look over at Dirk, who has stopped rambling. You haven't figured out how to read him yet, but you're fairly sure he's thinking the same thing you are: fuck.

  
"Fuck," he says.

  
You sigh in agreement. "Shit. You ready to go, Mr Hotshot Lawyer?"

  
"Ready when you are, Ruby."

  
You take a deep breath, and head to the Town Hall.

  
You've pretended to be other people before. Usually for a good reason, and always online. This is all too fucking real. You're holding Dirk's sweaty hand in yours, and your other hand is in your hair, probably making it messier. You're surrounded by perfectly nice people who aren't imposters. Aradia greets you briefly when you arrive, before turning back to the people she was talking to.

  
The hall itself is nice. Wooden floor that makes you wish you were wearing heels just to hear the click-clack and wide windows that let the April sun in. (Is it still April in the afterlife? Does time pass the same way here? Or is it only because April is the coolest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead Earth? Though of course, you've since departed that particular planet.)

  
"What's Wyoming like this time of year?" you whisper to Dirk.

  
"Shut the fuck up," he whispers back, not meanly. He's smiling in the way people do when they're trying not to laugh. "How's Nigeria?"

"Ask someone who's been there. I'm from Cameroon, remember?"

  
"You studied in Nigeria. Or are you forgetting yourself, Ruby?"

  
"Man, I don't remember the backstories. What was I supposed to have cured?"

  
"Of course, there's talk of the Anglophone territory of Cameroon joining Nigeria. Turns out a bilingual state doesn't come into being immediately. Only, you're supposed to be from the Francophone part, so that's not quite applicable. Really, it goes back to-"

  
"Yeah, STFU. We're being watched."

  
A woman is watching you rather intently. She seems out of place in the crowd, who are smiling and chatting casually. She's alone, and she looks irritated. You can't think why she's looking at you like that. You wonder if you might have known her on Earth, but you don't recognise her. Short dark hair, red glasses, little blue dress. It occurs to you that she may well have died in that dress. It occurs to you that you may well have died in cat leggings and a 'Gamer Girls Have More Fun' shirt.

  
"Can I help you?" you call to the woman. Her eyes widen behind her glasses, like she's startled that you're talking to her. She walks closer regardless.

  
"Have you seen that woman?" she asks. "I'm Jane Crocker. Heiress to Crockercorp."

  
You can just feel Dirk thinking of a snarky remark, and reply before he gets the chance. "Aradia, you mean?"

  
"Yes, her. Did you see where she went? Oh, this is a mess. I must call John, he's probably worried sick about me. Do either of you have a phone I can use? Mine has disappeared."

  
"I dont think there are phones in the afterlife," you say. "How would that even work?"

  
"How does any of this work, Rube?" Dirk pipes up. He extends a hand to Jane, who shakes it cordially. "Dirk Strider. I also did stuff when I was alive. This is Ruby Dashiell. She was a doctor on Earth."

  
"Oh, shoosh," says Jane. "Enough with this afterlife crap. I know this is part of my training to take over the company, so you can drop the charade already."

  
"Yeah, that's exactly what we're not," says Dirk. "I happen to be a very accomplished lawyer. Remember OJ Simpson?"

  
"Unless you're offering to help me sue Ms Megido, I'm afraid I don't care, buster."

  
"It's Dirk, actually. Like dirt, but with a K. And I only play defence, sorry."

  
Jane rolls her eyes at that. You would too, but you're hyperaware of how you need to look right now, and disinterested in your alleged soulmate is not it. "Right. Well. If neither of you can help me, I'll be on my way. It was nice meeting you, Mr Strider and Ms Dashiell."

  
When she's out of earshot, Dirk says, "So she was fucking insane."

  
You shake your head. "I don't think so. I think she just doesn't accept that she's dead. Also, who the hell is Ms Megido?"

  
"If I had to guess?" Dirk strokes his chin thoughtfully. "I'd say the good money's on me not givin' a shit."

  
"Oh, really?"

  
He nods stoically. You are so fucked.

  
"Dirk, what are you gonna do when Ms CEO asks Callie and/or Google who OJ Simpson's lawyer was?"

  
He shrugs. "Burn that bridge when I get to it."

  
"And what am I gonna do when that happens?" you ask quietly.

  
Dirk doesn't show much, but he does show a little. Almost imperceptibly, his face shifts. He lets out a long, slow sigh. "You're right. Sorry. I'll stop lying about easily verifiable facts."

  
You make a face at no-one in particular. "Thanks."

  
The idle chatter of the people around you quietens. People start sitting in the plastic chairs arranged neatly in rows. You sit down quickly, and Dirk, on your right, follows suit. You see Aradia, a red blur zigzagging between people and chairs to approach the front of the hall. She starts giving her speech, welcoming everyone, but you can't pay attention. With every bit of praise she heaps on the residents, you feel more and more suffocated by it.  
You don't deserve any of this. Somewhere, presumably, there's a woman named Ruby Dashiell, and she's being tortured, presumably, because you took her place. That freaks you out. If it was half a year ago, you'd just get drunk, but you don't do that anymore. You need to take responsibility, you think, and sort this out.

  
The guy to your left in the green shirt is whispering to someone, but you can't discern what he's saying. You turn your head and realise he's talking to Jane. You try to listen, instead of hearing what Aradia's got to say about how virtuous "you" are.

JANE: You have to tell me.   
????: I [unintelligible] because I don't bloody [unintelligible]. I'm pretty sure [unintelligible] or something like that.   
JANE: That's baloney. This is clearly a test of some sort, just tell me what I need to do to pass!   
????: Fuck if I [unintelligible]. 

  
She's still on that. Huh.

  
The meeting continues. You think about Ruby Dashiell, stuck in the Bad Place, presumably. You did that to her, in a way. Not on purpose, but you can't deny that your presence here is costing her what she deserves. You wonder if she hates you for it.

  
You think about Callie. What's her deal? Is she single? You wonder this aloud, and Dirk, attempting to disguise his laughter as a cough, perfectly mimics the sound of someone choking on a Skittle.  
"Dude, no, you can not date Callie. She's not a person," he whispers.

  
"Not a dude," you reply, borrowing your cadence from the not-lady.

  
"Sorry, force of habit," he says, before correcting himself. "Pal, you cannot date Callie."

  
"If you say so," you sigh. "You gotta admit, she is hot."

  
"I... no comment."

  
**==> Dirk: Get Princely.**

  
The meeting ends. You turn to Roxy and give her the universal sign for wanting to get the fuck out of here. She nods, and the two of you head back to your house. When you arrive, she dramatically descends onto the hideous magenta sofa and clutches a heart-shaped pillow. You turn your attention to an envelope on the floor. In a nigh-illegible blue scrawl, it's addressed to DIRK STRIDER.

  
"You okay, Rox?" you ask. She clearly isn't, but phrasing it as a question gives her a bit more dignity.

  
She sighs loudly. "No, Dirk, I'm not. Because I'm here, the real Ruby Dashiell is in the Bad Place, and I'm not sure I can take the guilt. Aren't you worried about the real Dirk Strider?"

  
"If we're being completely honest, I think he can go fuck himself," you say. "Look at this shit. The Princess Bride, Weekend at Bernies, 2001: A Space Odyssey. If this is his taste in movies, I'm clearly the superior Dirk in this situation."

  
That doesn't seem to cheer her up. She's sprawled over that goddamn futon (at least you think it's a futon; you don't know furniture terminology), legs hooked over the back of it, head on the armrest, effortlessly transferring the dirt from her sneakers to the, uh, thing.

  
You're a fucking philosophy student. You don't even know what a chair is with any degree of certainty. You open the envelope. Oh no, you think. Oh no, no, no, no, no.

  
What it says is "YOU DON'T BELONG HERE."

  
You'll deal with this later. No need to worry Roxy with it.

  
"Okay, to clarify, that was a joke. I'm all kinds of torn up about the ramifications of this bullshit," you continue, definitely making things worse. The WAB poster taunts you from the edge of your vision. The godawful fonts, Bernie Lomax's mustache, the goofy grin of the guy on the right whose name you never bothered to learn because you've only seen the first 12 minutes of this movie, and even then you only watched that much because Dave thought it would be funny and ironic and that was six months ago, probably, when you were alive and everything made some fuckin' sense...

  
That poster's got to go. You do the normal, rational thing and remove it from the wall and place it, face down, on the floor. Then you grab a fake katana from off the wall (thank fucking God the other guy likes shitty swords as much as you) and slice it repeatedly, leaving streaks in the wooden floor and not caring one bit. Roxy, now almost upside-down on the couch, is watching you with catlike amusement.

  
"Yeah, super torn up," she says, crossing her eyes. "Oh fuck, all the blood is rushing to my head." She rolls off the couch inelegantly. "Gimme a minute, this shit's hitting different."

  
"Let me know when your blood redistributes itself," you say, chucking the sword (which is far too straight to be a katana, but there sure is some fuckin' signage calling it that) on the ground where it belongs.

  
Roxy, now with her head quite literally over her heels, places a palm tenderly on her forehead. "Do you, like, enjoy phrasing things in the most ass-backwards way possible?"

  
"It's a hobby."

  
"You should do something else."

  
"Yeah, I should. I won't, but I should."

  
There's a knock at the door. You glance over at Roxy. "You invite anyone over?" you ask.

  
She shrugs. "It's probably Aradia. I'll get it."

  
While Roxy answers the door, you don't bother to say that Aradia doesn't strike you as the kind of person who knocks. She's like Dave in that way.

  
"Look, Dirk," says Roxy. "Jane's here. You remember Jane, right?"

  
"How could I forget Jane?" you ask. "You called me Buster and all but asked me to help you sue someone. Pretty stellar first impression you made."

  
Jane, who has just entered your home and is carefully avoiding the WAB slices on the floor, sighs defeatedly. "Don't I know it. I've made a fool of myself, haven't I?"

  
"Yeah," you agree. "But don't beat yourself up about it. It's fair to say I've been acting like a fuckin' idiot since I got here. It's basically what gets done around here. At least in this house."

  
"Speak for yourself," says Roxy.

  
You think it's a sign that your immortal soul can be redeemed that you don't point out all of her shenanigans, including but not limited to: getting vertigo from a couch not two minutes ago. It doesn't have to be a federal fucking issue, you think, like a redeemable asshole.

  
Jane appears to be building up the courage to say something. You plant your ass on the couch, which remains hideous, and give Jane the universal sign for "this is the forum, say whatever it is you need to". It takes her a minute, but she finally does it.

  
"Can I hide from my soulmate here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple of disclaimers  
1\. i read the book series "all the wrong questions" as a kid and it gave me a brainworm that makes me always write characters calling each other "ms/mr/mx lastname" all the time. there is no cure.  
2\. i apologise for the lack of horses in this chapter my excuse is that i am dumb and forgot. im justifying this by saying that dirk forgot because this is homestuck, where the standard protocol is to project your own moral failings onto dirk strider


	3. Weekend At Bernie's Doesn't Even Have Bernie Sanders In It

  
**==> Jane: Get lively.**

  
To be clear, you weren't the one who put that letter under Dirk and Ruby's door. You don't know anything about the letter. You don't know that there ever was or ever will be a letter. But Dirk thinks you did, and Dirk thinks you do. 

  
You've just left your soulmate hanging. Not your fault, or his. You can't even explain it. He's just a really crummy soulmate. 

  
You knock on Dirk and Ruby's door, since they were so kind to you before despite your nonsense You're still not quite convinced you're dead, but if this is a company training thing, it is in your best interest not to go off on people anymore. You got yelled at by a local resident named Karkat for about twenty minutes, and you think that was enough of him or an (after)lifetime. Yes, he cured cancer, but you don't give a crap.

  
You knock on the door, Ruby answers, you apologise for making a fool of yourself, Dirk tells you not to worry about it. Then you ask whether you can stay a while to get away from... him. Dirk and Ruby give each other a look, and Ruby gives you a smile. "Sure. This house is big enough for the three of us." 

  
You try to figure out what Dirk is thinking. You fail to figure out what Dirk is thinking. He's as expressionless as Ron Swanson, albeit without the fantastic facial hair.

  
Ruby takes you to your room. She explains the plot of a game she likes while she leads you down the hallway. There are a lot of swords on the walls here. You're not sure you want to know.

  
Your room in the Strider-Dashiell house is painted pale pink, which strikes you as very Ruby. The window is made of that old glass that you had in your bedroom window as a kid, the kind that distorts the view of outside a little bit. You remember being a kid and looking through the window, wondering if this was how fish saw the world. 

  
"If I'm really dead, how come I haven't obtained the knowledge of how fish see?" you muse to no-one. "Checkmate." 

  
"You should ask Callie," says Ruby, who you forgot could hear you. 

  
"Who the heck is Callie?" 

  
Ruby picks up a DVD and looks it over. "The not-robot-not-lady. You can ask her anything. Didn't Aradia brief you? Hey, what's The Princess Bride about?"

  
"Apparently not," you reply. "And I've never seen it."

  
"Genuine question: If you don't think you're dead, where do you think you are?" Ruby asks. "I'm just saying, there's all this impossible shit happening. They can make cute people just show up outta thin air."

  
You give her the full rundown on what you think is going on. You turned twenty-one on the thirteenth of April. You are now the legal owner of Crockercorp. You don't think it's outside the realm of possibility for all this to be a test conducted by the company to assess your ability to take control. Ruby, it turns out, does. 

  
"That's fake as shit, sorry," she says. "Not only do I not work for Crockercorp, I never would. I'm still mad about that lake you guys contaminated with toxic waste. That was lame and shitty." 

  
"If you're talking about the incident that happened in 2014, affected families were compensat-" 

  
"Don't give a shit, sorry. You don't gotta do the whole saleswoman routine." Ruby puts the movie back on the shelf. "Goodnight, Jane." 

  
A young lady stands in someone else's guest bedroom. It just so happens that today, the thirteenth of April, is the day that this young lady died. It is also her birthday, as well as the day that she was supposed to inherit her family's company. Her name, which is to say your name, is Jane Crocker. What will she do? 

  
That's the wrong question, buster. You'd be better off asking what she won't do. 

  
**==> Roxy: Holy Fucking Shit, What The Fuck? What The Shit And Fuck?**

  
"Callie?" you call, after locking the bathroom door. You don't want to deal with actual humans right now. You're the kind of angry that exhausts you.

  
"Hello?" 

  
You do that thing where you slide down the wall into a sitting position, with your knees to your chest. It's very fourteen-year-old Roxy of you. "Callie, I feel like shit." 

  
Callie does something that surprises you. She sits down next to you and, ever so gently, places her hand on top of yours. For a split second, you feel the coldness you expected from... whatever she is, but just as quickly it's replaced by the warmth of human physical contact. She might be stealing your body heat to do this, and you're completely fine with that. Across the hall, you hear a crash, and you don't even give a fuck what Dirk's done this time.

  
"You're like a person," you say quietly. 

  
"Appearing humanlike makes it easier for humans to trust me." 

  
"Sounds fuckin' right," you say. "People care about people who look like them. Even the super ethical people who get into shrimp heaven." 

  
"You're wondering why Jane, who is very different from you, is in the same place as you," says Callie. "And you're overwhelmed by this transition into another realm. Both of these responses are completely understandable." 

  
"Why _is_ Jane in the same place as me?" you ask. "I'm, like, a doctor who helped people, right? And she's out here promoting some corporation that's fucking the planet." 

  
"I'm not permitted to talk about the personal lives of anyone in the neighbourhood," says Callie. "But it is public knowledge that Jane was never in charge of the company. I can say that, since you already knew it. You might even find that you and she have more in common than you think." 

  
"Perhaps," you concede. "Look, I'll be nice to her. I'm just wary, you know? I mean, you know everything, but do you know about feelings and stuff?" 

  
You take a moment to really look at Callie. She doesn't look like anyone you've ever met. Her hair is really, really white, and styled in a pixie cut. Her face is dotted with freckles that you didn't notice before, and either her skin is slightly luminescent or the bathroom light is giving her that appearance. And yet she doesn't look artificial. She looks like anyone you might see on the streets of New York City, back when you were nine and your mom worked in that tall building and she would drive you and Rose around Brooklyn. Rose would be reading some book, but you couldn't stop staring at all the people and their fancy clothes. She looks like one of the cool people you'd see, with their dyed hair and unusual style, who you thought were so grown-up until you turned the age where your classmates started to dress like them. You're leaning on her, you realise. She doesn't seem to mind.

"I know about feelings," says Callie. "I just don't experience them in the way you understand. When I was created it was decided that my having a human experience of feelings was unnecessary. I suppose my creator didn't expect this specific interaction." 

  
"Callie, does everyone adjust to the afterlife as badly as I am? Because I feel like I'm doing a terrible job of being dead." 

  
Callie looks you in the eye. You notice for the first time that her eyes are traffic-light green. They're the only thing about her that marks her as inhuman, and you didn't even see it until now. "You're doing better than most people," she says. She says it like a simple statement of fact, and it probably is.

  
You sit in silence for a while. After the day you've had, you're too tired to say anything else. At some point you fall asleep in Callie's arms, and you dream something vague and fantastical. You wake up in your new bedroom alone. You hear, in the distance, the sound of a pony flipping the fuck out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> normally when i write a character having an opinion it doesnt mean i endorse that opinion at all but i really do hate the weekend at bernies poster it is the worst thing and im still thinking about it
> 
> thank u for reading uwu


	4. The One Where They Are Quite Literally Stuck In The Home

**==> Jane: Have You Ever, Ever Felt Like This? **

It would appear that something has gone horribly wrong. You wake up in Dirk and Ruby's spare room to find that giant shrimp are falling from the sky and a horse the size of a building is whinnying and essentially just losing its mind. You, of course, know that this is merely another facet of the test you have been given. What you are uncertain of is your objective. Should you attempt to calm down the horse? Protect your neighbours from the falling shrimp? Or is this your examiner's natural response to your refusal to stay with your soulmate? You are suddenly aware of your teeth. 

You need to formulate a coherent plan. This is not one of your strong suits. You are very good at making it seem like you've solved the problem, but you are far less adept at actually solving problems. This is one of the rare occasions where appearances don't count for a lot. You're as lost as last year's Easter egg in this godforsaken Truman Show, and there's not a whole lot you can do about that on your own. So you do the only thing you feel you can. 

"Callie?" you call. The not-lady appears in her typical manner, and you manage not to be startled. You have never allowed yourself to be startled. It's undignified. 

"Yes?" Callie replies. She's infuriatingly artificial. 

"Take me to Ms Megido," you demand. 

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Jane," says Callie. "The neighbourhood is self-destructing. Until the problem is rectified, you cannot leave the building. You will be putting yourself in immortal peril." 

"I don't have the faintest idea what you mean," you say, folding your arms. "Am I supposed to believe that I've died or not? Just take me to Aradia. Do you know who I know, Callie? I'll sue you. I'll sue all of you."

"For the price of oblivion," says Callie. "Again, Jane dear, I'm afraid I can't allow you to leave the house. the fact that you are presently dead isn't relevant. It's not a physical threat; it's an existential one. Perhaps even ontological, if the situation becomes any direr." 

"You are not on a first-name basis with me," you say. 

"Sincerest apologies, Ms Crocker." Callie nods obediently, like a dog. 

You smile. "I'll accept th– "

You're talking to no-one. Callie has vanished in the same manner in which she appeared, and there is absolutely nothing more to say on the matter.

You begin pacing around the spare room, as you do when you're stressed and no-one can see you. You should be with your soulmate. He is alone in your home right now. What the heck is he doing there by himself? 

It all clicks suddenly. You aren't being tested by Crockercorp at all. No, it's more sinister than that. You've been kidnapped and you're currently being tortured. This is the work of Skaianet Systems, led by the heir to the company. That's why you can't leave, why Ruby hates Crockercorp, why OJ Simpson's lawyer is here. It's all an elaborate plot designed to prevent you from taking over the company. A plot predicated on you not figuring it out. You don't know where you are, but there has to be a way out. You'll head North (if you're right about this, you're likely in the Skaianet HQ in California) and find someone who will help you. 

You consider the people you've interacted with. Dirk is likely an informant; you've been seeing news stories about corrupt lawyers betraying their clients, and you don't trust anyone who wears sunglasses indoors. You cannot go to him. Your soulmate can't be trusted, being the literal heir to Skaianet. Callie is a neutral party, but since she's a piece of technology it's likely that anything you say to her is being recorded and can be used against you. And then there's Ruby. She doesn't seem the type to work for Skaianet, not with their scandalous history. Perhaps she's an actress hired to play the role of Ruby Dashiell. You definitely don't think she's a real doctor. She's too young, and her hair is too pink. Maybe you could get her on your side. If you told her what was really happening, she'd want to help you, right? 

You peruse the movies on the shelf. You don't see The Truman Show, but you do see Moana. The exact same movie, according to John, just with less white people and also with a girl as the main character. Exactly like your current situation. John just adored Moana. He didn't like The Truman Show. You've never seen it, but you know what it's about. You think maybe it was made so that one day you would think about it while you were trapped in a Skaianet kidnapping plot and shrimp fell from the sky. Somewhere in the distance you hear Dirk making quips about the horse. You think maybe you need a nap. You think, maybe, you need Ruby. 

**==> Dirk: When Strange Things Happen...**

DIRK: Fuck. She actually gave me a fuckin' pony.   
DIRK: Okay, this owns.   


The pony, which is an abomination before men and gods alike, continues to thrash around. 

DIRK: Man, I should probably name this thing.   
DIRK: Xanthos has a nice ring to it.   
DIRK: Brooklyn Supreme. Darley Arabian. Phar Lap. Acorn?  
DIRK: You know what, no. I'm doing it. I'm giving it the name I always wanted to give a thing if that thing was a horse.   
DIRK: I hereby christen thee,   
DIRK: Maplehoof.   


"Dirk, what the fuck are you doing?" Roxy asks. 

You're in the living room of your house. Roxy's on the sofa, watching something on TV that you don't much like the look of. You haven't been paying much attention to your immediate surroundings, however, because your gaze is fixed on the skyscraper-sized equine that is currently flipping the fuck out in the middle of the street, leaving anarchy and chaos in its wake. 

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm looking at that fucking horse," you reply, pushing up your shades. 

She stares at you blankly. Sometimes you forget that not everyone you meet is immediately accustomed to your horseshit (or, as it happens, your horse shit). There's an uncomfortable silence, until she nods understandingly. 

"Checks out," she says. "You seem like the kind of guy who likes horsies." 

You're about to say something hella witty and irreverent, but you're interrupted by Jane. She storms into the room, glasses askew and cheeks flushed. She's hyperventilating, a fact which is immediately obvious even from where you're standing. She doesn't say anything for a while, just stares at Roxy. And then, after an everlasting moment of silence, she does say something. 

"Ruby, may I speak with you alone?" 

Roxy looks over at you, and then back at Jane. "Sure, Jane." 

"I mean..." Jane shifts uncomfortably. She's either been blinking exactly when you blink or not at all. She meets your triangles for a split second before she spits out the next word. "Alone." 

Okay, you guess you'll go fuck yourself. 

While Jane and Roxy head to another room to do whatever it is girls do when guys aren't watching and also don't give half a shit, it occurs to you that the afterlife has been way too goddamn easy so far. It doesn't feel like Weekend at Bernie's, it feels like Ferris Beuller's Day Off. You're just relaxing as your perfect plan unfolds and everyone falls for your tricks. And that just isn't how things typically go for you, as much as you get off to thinking it is. 

It tends to be around this time – when you get too comfortable, when you start to approximate a carefree state – that shit starts going downhill for your machinations. You suddenly think that maybe you should learn more about the other Dirk Strider, so as to impersonate him better. 

You'd seriously consider asking Callie for help, but she creeps you the fuck out, and besides, she could snitch on you to Aradia or God or whoever. And that would be all well and good for your self-sacrifice martyr fantasy, except that you'd take Roxy down with you. You don't know Roxy all that well yet, but you can't shake the feeling that you wouldn't be able to forgive yourself if you were the reason she was sent to the Bad Place. Maplehoof whinnies somewhere in the distance. Someone's definitely the butt of this cosmic joke, and you think there's a distinct possibility it's you. You're not a gambling man, but if you were... 

But that whole line of thought is really dumb, and you scarcely care if the universe is crapping its pants at the sight of you flailing around in the afterlife. What's important is making sure you don't say anything stupid that gets you caught. 

So, naturally, you pull out the movies. As a guy you once went to high school with taught you the hard way, the best way to deal with an uncomfortable situation is to be able to quote awful movies at the drop of a hat, thus enabling the other person to not notice that you are incapable of expressing genuine emotion. 

You're about to put on an especially heinous piece of cinema when Aradia bursts in. You can't have a minute to yourself, can you? Can't even have the simple fucking pleasure of taking over exactly one third of this chapter with your internal monologue. Tragic. 

"Boy, am I glad to see you, Dirk," says Aradia, with an laugh that might suggest ease if it wasn't immediately punctuated by a terrible neigh from beyond. 

"What brings you here?" you ask. 

"Well, it would appear that there is a horse loose in the neighbourhood," Aradia explains, with utter seriousness. "I'm surprised you haven't noticed it." 

You keep a straight face, as fucking always. "Shit. Really?" 

Aradia is about to say something, when a shriek comes from the bedroom. It's Roxy. 

**==> Roxy: Are You Going Round The Twist?**

Jane leads you down the hall to the spare bedroom. She closes the door behind you, and then she closes the curtains. From what you've seen of Jane so far, this isn't strange behaviour, but it sure as shit is leaving you unsettled. She turns to you, and motions to the bed. 

"I'm taken," you say. 

Jane sighs. "I meant for you to sit down. I'm feeling pretty frazzled right now, and I don't have the mental bandwidth to account for every possible innuendo you could pull from my words. Okay? Can we just accept that, from now on, nothing I say is in reference to sex?" 

"Sure." You sit down on the bed. You don't take your eyes off Jane. Is this the part of the horror movie where the killer reveals herself? You've never been able to watch one of those the whole way through. Do people like you survive horror movies? 

"So, Ruby," Jane begins. She stretches out the R in Ruby, lets it roll around her mouth a bit. "If that is your real name." 

"Sure it is," you say. "I wouldn't lie to you. Janey." 

"How on God's green Earth do I know that?" Jane asks. "Everyone I have encountered since I arrived here has done nothing but lie. This isn't the afterlife. This is a kidnapping, and I'm the hostage! And you, you're an actress that Skaianet hired to fool me into thinking I shouldn't worry." 

You sit there and take it all in. For a minute there, you totally thought you were busted. Nope, turns out Jane is still not accepting her death. It's a position you can empathize with, but not one that you actually care to engage with. You think you have a pretty sweet deal being dead, especially given all the stuff you did on Earth. You spent almost half your life being a dumb teen, so it actually rocks that you're not being tormented for all the eternities. 

And this is where you do the exact thing that you chastised Dirk for doing before. You open your dumb mouth and start talking.

"Sure," you say. "They saw me on the streets of Brooklyn and asked me if I would pretty please aid in a fuckin' kidnapping. Use your head, Janey. I'm not privy to any big conspiracy, I promise."

"The fact that you said Brooklyn and not Yaoundé makes me feel even more lied to, if I'm being honest." 

"What the fuck is a Yaoundé?" 

Jane just stares at you really hard. "Yaoundé is the capital city of Cameroon. You are a liar. Callie?" 

Callie appears as always. You really wish you were happy to see her. 

"Callie, dearie," Jane says sweetly. "Who is Ruby Dashiell really?" 

Callie remains expressionless. She doesn't even blink, nor does she look at you. You know she won't rat you out; if she knew who you were this whole time, she would have done it by now, unless you've wildly misinterpreted the way she functions, which is entirely possible. You don't have the greatest track record for sussing out other people's intentions, a character flaw you developed over the years you spent deliberately hiding who you were from the world. (Some things never change. Even in death, you are a roguish motherfucker.) 

"Roxy Beatrice Lalonde. American. Born in Potsdam, New York. Twenty-one years of age. Died in Adirondack State Park, New York. Survived by her sister, Rose Judith Lalonde, and her mother, R–" 

"That's enough!" you shriek, in a last-ditch attempt to save yourself. You put a finger to Callie's lips. Okay, this is fucked. You're fucked. You're so fucking fucked. "Shit. Look. Yeah. My name's Roxy. I'm not an actress, I'm just... I'm someone. I died, somehow, I don't remember how, and they thought I was someone else. Please don't snitch on me, Janey. I don't wanna go to Hell. I know I'm supposed to. I know I'm supposed to burn. Please don't make me burn." You can feel the tears falling down your cheeks and onto your shirt. You can't stop it. You can't stop any of it. If this is the Good Place, what does the Bad Place look like? Where is the real Ruby Dashiell? What are they doing to her? You can't stop it. She is burning and you can't stop it. 

There is an arm around you, and then there is another. You realize that you are being held upright by Callie and Jane, and you try to find your balance. They sit you down on the bed. They don't let go. 

"I won't tell," Jane says. "Consider it a favour. For reasons that I have yet to fully comprehend, I've decided to trust you." 

You hear banging on the door, and Dirk yells for you to unlock it. Dude must have heard you screaming from the living room. Callie looks to you for approval, and you nod. She gets up, unlocks the door, Dirk rushes in, actually looking worried for once in his life, and stops when he sees you there with Jane. 

"What the exact fuck when down here?" he asks. 

"I busted Ruby," says Jane. "I mean, Roxy." 

"It's cool," you assure him before he does something stupid. "They won't say anything. We've got some new allies."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i say "death of the author" a lot but i dont think the tone of this chapter can be divorced from the fact that i cant stop looking at news reports about the fires in my state and basically, shit is so fucked that i accidentally wrote about it when i was trying to do a homestuck and didnt notice until i reread it


	5. its jake

**==> Jake: Wake up.**

Everything is fine. 

Well, that comes as one hell of a relief, considering you have no clue what's going on. Which, you'll be the first to admit, isn't an unfamiliar sensation. Maybe you were kidnapped by bad guys. The Mafia, perhaps? 

(As if the Mafia would ever visit your boring little suburb in Melbourne. Grow up, English.) 

You reach into your jorts pocket for your phone. You'd better let Jade know that you've been taken by whatever enemy is befitting of your little seaside town with its ocean breeze and teenagers doing ketamine at the train station. 

You wonder if it might have been the teenagers doing ketamine at the train station. You think perhaps the cleanliness of your present surroundings might serve to refute that? But who are you to judge anyone by what activities they partake in on or around public transportation? It's fucking Melbourne. Case closed: it was those rascally emus. 

Which brings you to a rather important question. Why would emus, rascally or otherwise, pluck your phone from the tender, enveloping pocket of your jorts? Perhaps there is a mystery on your hands. 

You're just wondering where you can find a nice, gutsy gumshoe detective when the door opens and a woman in red greets you. 

"Hello, Jake," she says. "Come on in." 

**==> Jane: Oh Fuck**

"So what now?" you ask. 

"What now?" Dirk repeats. He might be mocking you. You don't yet grasp his sense of humour well enough to tell. "Now we wait for Callie to snitch on our asses and then we all get tortured for eternity. Does that sound good to you, Jane?" 

You all turn to look at Callie. She says nothing. She just sits there, default expression on her face, looking exactly like the goody-two-shoes girl from high school who would tell the teachers on the kids who smoked behind the gym. Which is to say, you. She still has an arm around Roxy. You don't know what that means. 

Dirk continues: "She's not quite Roko's basilisk, but she sure as fuck is some kind of basilisk. Except that instead of not creating her, our mortal sin is giving her the information she needs to seal our souls in the Inferno forever. Which makes this entire misadventure the shittiest evolution of the prisoner's dilemma I've encountered since Derek Parfit shat out the non-identity problem."

"Lalonde's basilisk," Roxy suggests. 

"What on Earth are you both talking about?" you ask. You are befuddled to say the least. 

"It's a thought experiment," Roxy explains. "From an internet forum. It was banned because the mods got freaked out." 

"It was banned," Dirk interrupts. "because it was an infohazard." 

You continue not understanding diddly squat. 

"The fact remains," Dirk goes on. "We are so utterly fucked, forever. Any fucking second that..." He gestures to Callie. "...whatever the hell she is is going to tell Aradia all about our shenanigans and then we're beyond dead and also beyond a point where a language created on the assumption that it would only be spoken by living people really stops being able to convey the magnitude of how fucked we are." 

Callie doesn't respond to this, and continues to hold Roxy. Perhaps she was never programmed to deal with a situation like this. 

"And there's nothing we can do about it," says Roxy. 

Dirk turns his head slightly, and the sunlight from the window reflects off his shades. "Au contraire, Ro-Lal. There is one thing we can do." 

Roxy's eyes widen in realisation. "No." 

"Yes. It's the only way." 

"You can't kill her! She has done nothing but serve us since we got here! She gave you that goddamn pony that you didn't even appreciate!" Roxy shrieks the last sentence so loudly that Callie, now visibly uncomfortable, retreats to the far corner of the room wordlessly. Roxy looks over at her, then at Dirk, and points at Callie. "Look what you did, you douche." 

** ==> Jake: Meet your soulmate. **

Chez English and Crocker, things are looking pretty good. Your soulmate, Jane, is a lovely lady, and you've pretty much forgotten the freakout you had about being dead. You and she chat it up for a while over tea, and you mention, briefly, your former career as the heir to Skaianet Systems. For some reason, and you cannot imagine why, Jane doesn't take this for the impossibly cool thing it is. She darts out the door before you can say "Skaianet Systems is an incredibly flawed company but trust me, the solution is for us to start acknowledging pride month with a rainbow Twitter logo and then do nothing else." 

**==> Dirk: Redistribute matter.**

You're not having this conversation anymore. You know what you need to do, even if you have to do the one thing you promised not to. It's for her own good, you tell yourself, and before you can really think about the upsetting implications of a statement like that, you blurt out one last request. 

"Callie, give me a katana that isn't fake."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hear your criticism. "but zander sunlightcatcher" you say, using my full internet moniker out of misplaced respect. "the non-identity problem isn't a variant of the prisoner's dilemma" and u are correct, however   
1\. every dilemma is a prisoner's dilemma when u live in the prison, of the mind   
2\. dirk strider would also think and say that   
3\. i spent too much time researching that joke to worry about whether it makes sense   
something about this one makes me think i need a philosophy intermission. i mean intervention


	6. Intermission Part 1: The Socratic Pesterlogs

DIRK: We are gathered here today to celebrate the hypothetical life of our dear acquaintance Callie. She isn't dead yet, but her days are as numbered as yours and mine aren't. Who is to say where she will find herself once she departs this realm? Perhaps we are but one stop on the shittiest train line in paradox space.   
JANE: Oh, Lordy.   
DIRK: This noble blade forged from Callie's own consciousness shall serve as the murder weapon. Her death will be marked heroic, and her atonement limited. That's a little John Calvin joke, for the 16th century Protestants in the audience.   
JANE: What audience?  
DIRK: [HOUSE OF DIRK REFERENCE THAT WAS A TOUCH TOO PLAIGIARISTIC OMITTED], Jane.   
ROXY: u have lost ur entire fuckin mind my guy   
ROXY: and also it is V OBVIOUS that ur trying to set up a dumb trolley problem thing here bc u have the subtlety of that fuckin hornse that is currently flipping a shit all over the lawn   
ROXY: which is deliberately obscuring the fact that u are both the trolley + the tracks in that scenario bc u literally are the reason why we r in this predicament in the first place  
DIRK: A troll-ey, if you will.   
JANE: I will not.   
DIRK: Y'all are being some wet-ass blankets.   
JANE: Am I losing my mind? Am I actually losing my actual mind? Is this happening right now? Are you genuinely trying to start a debate about whether we should kill this nice lady? I'll h  
ROXY: shes not a lady   
JANE: Pardon me?   
ROXY: think abt it   
ROXY: why would she have a gender shes just a callie  
JANE: Both of you need to stop trying to make me think about concepts right flipping now.   
DIRK: People more irritating than you have tried and failed.   
JANE: I wasn't done talking! I'll have you know that Callie is the only part of this insane... whatever this is... that has shown me any hint of sincerity. And she might not be a lady, but she's a person with a soul, and killing her is wrong. I won't debate you on this, because you know as well as I do that it's true.   
DIRK: Now why would you presume to know what I know?   
JANE: If you really thought killing Callie was just, you would have opened with your moral justification. But you've been trolling and trolleying and trying to obscure your arguments with silly word games, which is exactly the gambit of a man who knows himself to be in the wrong.   
DIRK: Fuckin' quod et demonstradum I guess.   
JANE: I really dislike you, Dirk.   
DIRK: Goddamn it. Just when I was going to gaslight you, you went and demonstrated your excellent judgement. This is just like fucking Death Note, and I'm Light.  
ROXY: can i be misa   
DIRK: Yeah, I feel like that was implied.   
JANE: Hang on. Shouldn't Callie be allowed to defend herself?   
DIRK: What?   
JANE: In America, everyone has the right to defend themselves. Justice is given out only after hearing all sides of the case. Callie should be allowed to defend herself.   
DIRK: Okay, first of all, we aren't on Earth, and therefore America... isn't relevant.   
DIRK: Second,   
ROXY: second u live in a fantasy america accessible only 2 oil heiresses and charlatan tech ceos  
DIRK: Not what I was gonna say, but fair. Third, what makes you think that what's happening here was ever supposed to resemble justice? "Charlatan" is a good word, by the way.  
ROXY: it so is   
JANE: You're both totally depraved.   
DIRK: Another Calvin reference. Those 16th century Protestants are shitting themselves with divine rage that makes way to outrageous glee right now. It's like the Christian version of a Riverdale musical episode.   
ROXY: pls stop being like this   
DIRK: I died, Rox. As far as "stop being", I think I've come as close as I can.   
JANE: Dirk, if I may...   
DIRK: Go ahead.   
JANE: How did you die?   
DIRK: I don't know. If I had to guess, I'd say decapitation.   
JANE: Roxy?   
ROXY: me neither and idc  
JANE: Neither of you can remember how you died. How convenient.   
ROXY: omfg   
ROXY: do u want to remember that shit?   
ROXY: dont invoke the good place madrigogs   
DIRK: What the fuck are madrigogs. I'm trying to murder here. You might wanna look away.   
JANE: What? No! Stop!   
ROXY: jfc dirk!!   
DIRK: It's over. The trial was rigged from the start. Either of you ladies read Kafka?   
ROXY: DONT KILL HER??   
DIRK: I mean, as far as fucked up media about people being punished for unclear crimes, I bet The Trial is the most relevant one to our present situation.   
DIRK: "Like a dog."   
JANE: Oh God.   
ROXY: ...   
ROXY: fuck you man   
ROXY: you are legit evil   
DIRK: Maybe more like a horse, actually. What with her being headless and all.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and im back after literally months, sorry for the absence i was busy graduating high school  
spoiler that isnt a spoiler if youve seen the good place: callies not dead forever  
also i changed my tumblr url to dashqwerty and may yet change it again to vriskas


End file.
